


A Definite Lack Of Subtlety

by calathea



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-29
Updated: 2010-03-29
Packaged: 2017-10-08 12:21:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calathea/pseuds/calathea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This particular day of Misha Collins' life starts far too early on a cold Vancouver morning with a headache, twinges of I-haven't-done-that-in-a-while pain in places he can't mention in polite company and his wife propositioning one of the stars of his show. (Misha/Jensen/Misha's wife Vicki).</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Definite Lack Of Subtlety

Some days, Misha wonder how this is possibly his life. This particular day starts far too early on a cold Vancouver morning with a headache, twinges of I-haven't-done-_that_-in-a-while pain in places he can't mention in polite company (not that he really _knows_ any polite company, these days), and his wife propositioning one of the stars of his show.

It all goes steadily downhill from there.

"Why are we getting a ride from Jensen, again?" he asks, rubbing his eyes in the vague hope that friction will somehow make up for the _many too few_ hours of sleep that he managed to snatch last night.

Vicki, aggravatingly, looks like she slept peacefully for nine hours, in spite of the fact that his poor, wrung out and aching-in-strange-places body can attest to the fact she was actually awake and fucking him into the mattress for most of the night. Misha can only assume therefore that her appearance is down to some secret, magical female thing that his male brain is far too simple to comprehend, or else done solely to irritate him. Or possibly both.

She raises an eyebrow at him, and launches into an explanation with the air of one who has said this all before. His brain shorts out three sentences in but he still nods in what he hopes are appropriate places.

Vicki's eyes narrow. Luckily, before she can administer the pop quiz on her explanation that she's clearly considering, Jensen's car pulls up to the kerb. They spend the next few minutes exchanging greetings and agreeing that this call is far too early, and god, yes, Jared deserves to have something terrible done to him for daring not to be in this scene and not having to be on set until noon.

Vicki's phone rings before they've even gone five blocks, and when she settles further back into the back seat, Jensen leans a little toward Misha under the cover of her conversation to say: "Why am I driving you guys in today?"

Misha shrugs helplessly. "Vicki wanted you to?" he says.

Jensen blinks at him, but then nods. "Well, okay then," he says. His eyes flicker to the rear view mirror and then away again. "How do you feel about slime? We could put it in Jared's shoes."

Misha laughs, and just as he's is thinking what a relief it is that the guys are as easy-going as they are, Vicki snaps her phone shut, leans between the front seats and says: "So, Jensen, I've been meaning to ask you. How do you feel about threesomes? More specifically, how would you feel a threesome with the two of us?"

It's just as well it's o'dark thirty in the morning, because otherwise Supernatural would have been out one leading man and one season regular. As it is, Jensen swerves across two lanes of traffic, gets honked at by a guy in a truck, and almost runs a red light.

"Maybe I should wait to ask again when you're not driving," Vicki says, thoughtfully, as they settle back into the correct lane of traffic. "But you know, you could think about it."

She sits composedly back in her seat again, and from the clicking noises starts texting someone on her phone.

Jensen turns terrified eyes on Misha for a moment, who feels certain his own face is frozen in some ridiculous expression of shock, and then resolutely looks back towards the road. His knuckles are white from how hard he is clutching the steering wheel. Misha wishes _he_ had a steering wheel to clutch, especially since his mind is helpfully relaying to him all the things he admitted to thinking about Jensen, about what he wanted to do to Jensen, while being very enjoyably tortured by Vicki in the earlier hours of this morning. His admiration for her interrogation technique, already pretty high, goes up a notch.

"Were you ever with the CIA?" Misha asks her now, turning in his seat to look at her.

She glances up from her phone. "Don't be ridiculous," she says, and leans forward to peck him on the cheek. "If I were a spy I wouldn't be able to tell you anyway."

"That's not reassuring," Misha tells her, and she sits back in her seat again and smiles at him.

"Too much comfort is the death knell of marriage," she says blithely, and turns her attention back to her phone.

Jensen makes some kind of strangled noise, which Misha guesses was meant to be a laugh. When Misha looks at him questioningly, he says: "You guys are a regular double act."

Misha opens his mouth to deny it, but Vicki breaks in before he can. "I never make an offer I won't fulfill," she says. "_Thoroughly_."

Jensen's eyes meet hers in the rearview mirror again and he runs another red light.

Luckily, by then they are almost at the set, and once there, Vicki jumps out of the car and is immediately pounced upon by one of the women she's befriended from the costume department and dragged away to get coffee, leaving Misha and Jensen, respectively sleep-deprived and deeply confused, to meander slowly towards the trailers.

"If I get a ticket in the mail for my driving this morning, I'm going to bill you," Jensen says.

"Bill Vicki," Misha says, indignantly. He contemplates this for a moment. "Or, okay, bill me."

Jensen grins at him, but it's rather half-hearted, and they walk for another few seconds in silence, nodding hello to one or two of the crew who are hurrying around setting up for the day. The sun is coming up quickly now, and they're supposed to start shooting in less than an hour.

"Vicki says some crazy stuff, I can't always tell what's a joke," Jensen says as they reach Misha's trailer

Misha stops by his trailer door and meets Jensen's eyes. "She doesn't say much she doesn't mean," he says, and watches with fascination as a wave of colour floods Jensen's face. He wonders whether Jensen blushed earlier too. He couldn't tell in the dim light of the car.

Jensen jitters in place. "Oh," he says eventually, and starts to say something else, but they're interrupted by Judy from make-up who frowns at Misha and asks what the hell he did to his _face_, oh my god, and sends them hurrying into their trailers to get ready.

~ * ~

For some reason, never adequately explained, there's a bed in the back behind one of the sets. Misha knows, from relatively reliable set gossip -- he takes advantage of the _unreliable_ set gossip often enough to spread wild stories about Jared to know the difference -- that at least two couples have had sex back here, one of them while they were shooting, but not even that stops him from flopping face down onto the mattress while the crew fuss over the set. He should probably be learning his lines he thinks, hazily, but the lure of the mattress was just too strong. He's been lying there for some uncounted number of minutes when a conversation catches his exhaustion-sodden attention.

"What's going on? Why are we hiding from Vicki? I thought we liked Vicki," Jared is saying, in what he fondly imagines is a whisper.

"Shhhh," someone replies, and there's a shuffling sound which he thinks is them making their way further into space behind the set. One of them trips over something and swears softly, and Misha identifies him as Jensen. He smirks into the mattress.

Sure enough, when they start speaking again they sound closer. "She asked if I wanted a threesome with her and Misha," Jensen says. He sounds kind of frantic.

"She's always saying shit like that to you," Jared says. "We've never had to _hide_ before."

There's a pause. "Are you telling me you didn't _notice_?" Jared asks. "Dude. She even gave you a copy of her book. The inscription says you should come ask her or Misha if you have any questions."

"I thought she was just being nice," Jensen protested.

"Nobody is that nice unless they want to get into your pants," Jared says, firmly. "So are you going to do it?"

Misha tenses, but before Jensen can answer, soft footsteps approach. Someone coughs, and Jensen says, in a rather higher voice than usual, "Um, hi Vicki."

"Hi," Vicki says. "Have you seen Misha? He's vanished and make-up are on the warpath looking for him."

"Um," says Jensen. "I'll go look."

There are sounds of a too-hasty retreat, Jensen swearing again as he trips over something. Jared laughs.

"He's not too smart, sometimes," Jared says in confiding tones, and Jensen calls back to invite him to fuck off.

Vicki waits until Jensen's heavy footsteps have receded into the distance and then says: "Yes, I've noticed he seems to miss some of the subtleties sometimes."

"There are smarter guys around, you know," Jared says, in what Misha is certain he thinks is a _subtle_ manner.

Luckily, before Misha has to get up and save Jared from embarrassing himself, Vicki laughs lightly and says, "Oh Jared, honey, no." and then her footsteps patter away.

Jared mutters something to himself and stomps away a moment later, and Misha opens his eyes and stares into the backstage gloom thoughtfully until someone starts yelling his name and threatening him with castration if he doesn't come out of hiding right now.

~*~

Misha flubs his lines all the way through the next scene, but since he's managed to wind Jared up to the point where he starts laughing if he even _looks_ at Misha, he doesn't get in trouble. While Jared is led away to be spoken to sternly by the director after they finally get a version of the scene in which nobody laughs, misses their cue or drops something, Misha wanders over to the catering table. He's just wondering whether the sugar high that would result from eating three chocolate glazed donuts is worth the crash later when Jensen joins him. He looks mournfully at the donuts.

"Wardrobe will kill me if I don't fit into my jeans next week," he says.

Misha pats his arm consolingly and stuffs half a donut in his own mouth. Jensen makes a disgusted face at him.

"What?" says Misha, through a mouthful. "My Castiel pants are baggy."

Jensen sighs again, and picks up a bottle of water. He fidgets with the label while Misha finishes his donut and licks his chocolate-y fingers. He's just reaching for a second one when Vicki joins them, stealing the donut out from under his fingers and sliding her arm around Misha's waist in one slick movement. "Did you invite Jensen over for dinner?" she asks, biting into her donut.

"Was I supposed to?" Misha says, surprised.

Vicki pouts at him. "He didn't seem to want to accept my invitation," she says.

Misha glances at Jensen, who has gone pink again. "You didn't? You ought to, you know, I'm making lasagne tonight."

Jensen looks over at them and then looks away hurriedly.

"See, he gets all shy when I ask too," she says, and then pauses. "It's actually pretty cute."

Jensen blushes even harder, and Vicki laughs at him.

"Well, you're probably scaring him," Misha tells her. "God knows you scare me sometimes."

She elbows him in the ribs, and he winces exaggeratedly. "Get on with it," she says.

"Jensen, will you please come to dinner tonight?" Misha says, robotically, and then in more normal tones adds: "We owe you for the ride in today anyway, and my lasagne really is good."

Jensen looks uncertain, and Vicki reaches out to touch his arm, smiling at him. "Just dinner, Jensen, honest."

He eyes them both for a second, but then relaxes and says, "Yeah, okay, lasagne sounds good."

Vicki grins at him trumphantly. "Great!" she says. "I hope you like garlic. I think Misha secretly harbours a fear of vampires, he puts so much in."

"Yeah, I...." Jensen says, but then someone yells: "Ackles! We need you over here!" and with an apologetic smile he heads over to where the director is fussing over something in the script.

Misha picks up the last chocolate donut and eyes his wife. "You're such a liar," he tells Vicki, "Just dinner, my ass."

"Your ass that he stared at every time you bent over to pick up that pen he kept dropping," Vicki says, sweetly.

He raises his eyebrows at her, and she stretches up to kiss his cheek. "You bring home a _much_ better class of guy doing this acting thing," she says. "I approve."

"Thanks," Misha says, rolling his eyes.

"You're welcome," she replies, steals his donut and walks away.

~*~

"Oh my god, how is it still Wednesday," Misha moans, what feels like several centuries later, slumping in the back seat of Jensen's car. "How many times did we have to do that last scene?"

"Thirteen," Vicki says from the front seat. "I could have recited your lines along with you by the time it was in the can. And I'd have done a better job."

Jensen snorts, and Misha revives enough to glare at him in the rearview mirror. "And she would have looked prettier too," Jensen tells him.

Vicki preens. "You're so sweet," she tells Jensen, who smiles over at her. She turns to look critically at Misha. "You are looking pretty rough today," she tells Misha. "They had to trowel the make-up on you."

"Thanks," Misha says, dryly. "And whose fault is that?"

"No stamina," she says, sighing disappointedly.

Jensen is following their conversation like a tennis game, which Misha thinks is probably bad for his driving skills. He closes his eyes.

"You kept him up all night?" Jensen asks Vicki.

She smiles wickedly at Jensen. "I certainly _tried_," she says. "But he's too old for that these days."

"Hey," Misha objects, cracking his eyelids open enough to see that Jensen's ears have reddened again. "Leave my age out of it."

"There are compensations to him being old," Vicki tells Jensen in a confiding tone. "You'll see."

Jensen splutters, and Vicki laughs again, and pats his arm. "Sorry, just dinner," she says, and then turns her head to wink at Misha.

~*~

They have to cajole and tease Jensen into coming up to their apartment when they get there, and Vicki, to Jensen's apparent relief, has to cool down her seduction attempt by a half a degree. By the time the lasagne pan is soaking, the dishes are done and the first bottle of wine is empty, though, he's relaxed into the situation, sprawled out on their sofa and laughing comfortably with them at Vicki's impression of Kripke's overwhelming crush on Misha.

Misha thinks he'd be a lot less relaxed if he knew what Vicki and he got up to on that sofa the night before -- especially given how often Jensen's name came up at the time.

"Poor Misha," says Vicki, with mock-sympathy. "It's hard to be a sex object."

"At least he doesn't chase you round the set like this one director on _Days_ used to," Jensen says. "I swear, his hand found its way to my ass fifty times a day."

"My ass is invite only," Misha agrees, and heaves himself to his feet. The combination of wine and food and exhaustion makes him waver a little. "Little boys room," he says, and wanders out, grabbing Jensen's empty wine glass as he goes.

When he comes back, a full glass of wine in each hand and the bottle tucked under his arm, it's to find Jensen, still sprawled out on the sofa, kissing his wife.

He almost drops the wine, but manages to set down the glasses and bottle with only a few drops spilled, and then goes to sit on the coffee table close to them. Jensen's fingers are flexing the cushion of the sofa, and when Misha sits down his eyes pop open for a second, only to close again a second later. Vicki has one hand in Jensen's hair, fingers stroking through the hair at his temple.

When they break apart for air, Misha stares at Vicki reprovingly. "You started without me," he complains. "How did you even go from separate sofas to making out in the time it took me to pee and pour wine?"

Vicki grins at him, and her lips are very slightly puffy from Jensen's kiss. "You're no good at that part anyway," she tells Misha. She sits back on her heels and picks up her glass of wine, and then raises her eyebrows at him. Jensen still looks dazed.

Misha rolls his eyes at her. "Did you even ask, or did you just jump him?" he asks her.

She shrugs and sips her wine.

"I don't mind," Jensen says, having apparently marshalled his remaining brain cells while they were talking. "I mean. Yeah. I liked it."

Vicki and Misha both grin at him. "Good," Vicki says.

"I, uh, I don't normally," Jensen starts, but Vicki interrupts.

"We do," she says, firmly. "Not _regularly_, but when we're both into it."

Jensen's eyes flick to Misha, who nods. "Think of it as an invitation to my ass," Misha says, with a smile.

Jensen laughs, but he's still looking uncertainly between them. Vicki looks back at him confidently, but Misha thinks Jensen still needs some convincing. He leans in carefully, slowly enough to give Jensen the choice, but he doesn't hesitate, leaning forward himself to connect their lips, hands moving automatically to Misha's shoulders. After a moment or two the position is uncomfortable for both of them, and Misha shifts to sit on the edge of the sofa next to Jensen's hip, Jensen falling back again to sprawl against the cushions. They kiss, and one of Jensen's hands slides down his torso to the small of his back to press him closer.

When he finally pulls away, sitting back upright, Misha is breathing hard, and Jensen is heavy-lidded and squirming on the sofa. Vicki's expression, when he looks over, is unbearably smug, but she also can't hide her excitement. She hums against his lips when he leans over to kiss her.

"I think we should take this into the other room," she tells them, when they break apart. Jensen looks glazed but eager, and Misha stands to help first Vicki and them Jensen up from the sofa. Vicki leans up to press her lips to the pulse point beating in Jensen's throat, and then takes his hand to lead him to the bedroom, Misha following along behind. "Let me tell you _all_ about Misha's fantasies about you," she says to Jensen.

Jensen looks back at Misha with a smirk, who sighs and follows them. Obviously he's not going to have _any_ secrets left after tonight.

~*~

Misha's day starts later than than the last, but still much, much too early. He is more tired than yesterday, the twinge in his back is telling him that age catches up even with the most flexible boy in high school eventually, and he's pretty sure he's got beard burn from hell all over his thighs. He twitches in the warm nest of blankets and arms that he's caught up in at that thought, and Vicki breathes in deeply beside him, her eyelids fluttering open. As always, she looks as fresh as if she's waking from hours of restful slumber instead of snatches of sleep between orgasms.

"I hate you," he tells her, his voice morning-husky. Jensen murmurs behind him and presses closer to his back, hair tickling at the back of Misha's neck.

"Oh, honey," she says, pityingly, after one glance at him. "Make-up are going to kill you when they see you, and that's _before_ they see the bite marks. Maybe you should have put more garlic in the lasagne after all."

She leans in to kiss one of the marks at his throat, and Jensen muffles a laugh against his back. Fatalistically, Misha wonders whether being killed by make-up is better or worse than being killed by make-up and then having his lifeless corpse trampled by an angry director on a deadline who is missing half of the headline stars of the show. He's distracted by Vicki's hands on his front and Jensen's lips on his back, and decides he doesn't care. Vicki will make sure his mangled corpse is dealt with sympathetically.

Really, some days Misha wonders how this is _possibly_ his life.


End file.
